Girl on the third floor

Girl on the third floor

She lay motionless on the bed. I quickly dressed - just wanted out of there as fast as possible. What if someone had seen me on the landing or entering the building? What if they'd recognised me - after all, this had been part of my patch once? Na, that was a long time ago - but just maybe.
I could never tell Aimee what I'd done - she never understood a man's uncontrollable desires. If the truth be known, she just had no understanding whatsoever of the male psyche. Although when it came to men, Aimee thought she knew it all - which is why she'd become a Relate counsellor.

Although I'd had fantasies, this was the first time I'd ever done anything like this - my normally concise brain trying to make sense of it. How did I get here? Why take such a risk? Questions, questions - but no answers. I just knew I had to!

In retrospect I remember walking along the third floor landing and noticing the door to 57 was ajar. I slowly eased it open and immediately saw her standing by the bedroom door, back towards me, in a nylon chemise, through which I could make out the outline of her black underwear. I quietly made my move - straight over to where she stood. Then suddenly I had hold of her, pushing her towards the bed and ripping off her clothes - almost in one effortless move. Telling her not to look round, I roughly entered her from behind, "Doggy Style I think they call it - simultaneously pushing her breasts down onto the bed so that the buttocks tilted up removing any physical resistance to my now very erect penis. She didn't struggle or say anything - just remained still, grimacing slightly at the first thrust.

It was over in minutes, seconds probably - at first there was the feeling of elation, that orgasm inevitably brings ' but the next moment I was submerged by a sea of contradictory emotions. All at once on a crest, high on the sex, then down in a trough of guilt and fear. Guilty for wanting to behave like an animal, frightened because I knew, having given it reign, it would happen again and again.

Was it all my fault? Was any of it my fault? Maybe Aimee was in some way to blame, maybe she'd failed me as a wife? Or was it just the masculine desire to dominate - an inherited trait left over from ape-like ancestors? Whatever the cause it was done now and could not be undone.

She still hadn't moved. I began to make my way to the door. For the first time I noticed photographs of her with young children and the realisation came to me. My God she is some kids' mother. Finally she looked over to where I was standing and said in a soft low voice, "same time next week. I just nodded slipping ten, neatly folded, £20 notes on the table on my way out. Just got time, I thought, to get back to take Evensong.